It was the Half-breed's spade that had drawn forth this remark.
"Yes," declared Whisky-Jack wisely, "one time the Men were like you--walked on four legs and used a trowel-tail for their building; now they stand upright, and have shed the trowel which they use in their hands."
"Wonderful!" soliloquized Umisk; "still they can't do as good work. Fat Poplar! but it's a poor Lodge. The only sensible thing about it is the mud roof."
François struck the clod sharply with his spade, settling it into place. "How clumsily the Man works," cried Beaver; "I'm glad my tail is where it is. What's that mud thing sticking up out of the corner, Jay? Is it a little lodge for the Kit-Man?"
"That's a chimney--part of the fire-trap," answered Jack.
"I know what that's like," asserted Carcajou. "I went down one once. The Trapper locked his door, thinking to keep me out while he rounded up his Traps. It's a splendid trail for getting in and out of a Shack. Why, I can carry a side of bacon up that hole--did it."
"Isn't The Boy lovely?" muttered Mooswa. "Isn't his call sweet? What does François name him, Jack--Man-Cub or Kit-Man?"
Just then the Half-breed sang out: "Rod, I t'ink me it's grub time--knock off. De ole s'ack s'e's finis'."
"Rod?" mused the Moose. "Yes, that is what the Factor used to call him. 'Rod! Rod!' he would shout, and The Boy would run with his little fat legs."
Rod and the Half-breed went inside, closed the door and lighted a candle, for it was growing dark, put a fire in the stove and cooked their supper.